Away
by StripeEar
Summary: Times were better then and Mahtkin wishes he could go back. The problem is he's the Abbot and the Father of Redwall certainly can't go on an adventure. However, when the opportunity arises he finally gets a chance. But what will happen to the Abbey?


**Disclaimer: We do not own Redwall or any of its characters. We also don't own the lyrics-- Nightwish does.  
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**A/N: This story is based around Nightwish's song "Away."**

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Chapter One: Of Feelings of Reminiscence

_"Away, away, away in time  
Every dream's a journey away"_

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Abbot Mahtkin stretched, feeling his old muscles relax. He sighed and ran a silver-furred paw through a loose tuft of wispy fur that was dangerously close to his eye. The tuft fell back in a matter of seconds, but the ancient mouse didn't care. His body was there-- lying on a white-silk bed that lay in a snug room lit only by the pale sunshine that shined in from a window high above-- but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was far, far away. His eyes didn't see the red stone around him; instead, they saw something that was something from long ago-- something so far back in time it was lost to all but him.

_The sun sent blistering heat towards the small river below. The light gleamed on the water's surface_, _sparkling in the eyes of four companions who waded within its depths. Laughter and amiable speech filled the air, the words creating a banter of joy. A large mouse sat on the river's edge, splashing his feet in the shallow water. He was smiling._

_He watched as a young, female squirrel ducked underwater-- just in time to avoid a thick spray of flying water. The squirrel resurfaced by the feet of her assailant. It was a another mouse. His fur was dark and damp with water. He was laughing, but his laughter was cut short as the squirrel knocked his legs from under him. The squirrel's bell-like laughter filled the air. _

_A large hedgehog floated by, eyes closed, body shaking with laughter. They were having fun... Yes, it was a lot of fun. Until..._

The old Abbot shook his head, breaking himself out of his reverie-- closing his mind on what had been his last memory with those friends. He felt a familiar dull ache pull at his chest. It hurt to think of what had been, but of late it seemed that this was all he could do. The ache came with a growing sense of longing-- a longing to go back, to travel the land as he had once done. This longing had been frequenting him for a while-- though he had retired his sword long ago and ruled the abbey for many seasons.

He looked up at the light coming in from a high window above him-- it was the steely light of dawn. Heaving another sigh, he sat up from his bed. Mahtkin fumbled by his bed, producing a gnarled walking stick. Using the stick as a crutch, he lifted himself up from the bed, and despite his age, hobbled quickly to the door of his room.

Abbot Mahtkin made his way to the abbey's kitchens, the smell of baking scones assaulting him. He sniffed deeply in satisfaction but was soon frowning. _It's like this every morning,_ he thought. _It's like I'm stuck in a rut. Always the same old thing..._ The Friar, a fat and graying mouse, looked up as he entered.

"G'morning, Father Abbot," he said in greeting. The Friar bustled around the kitchen, pulling the scones out of the oven and setting them down to cool. The Abbot nodded his head in answer.

"Good morning, Friar Balstril." Then the Abbot looked around the room. "Where is your assistant this morning? He's usually here helping you make breakfast." The Friar made his reply without even looking up from his work.

"Oh, don't worry. Renlow was tired last night; I didn't really need his help this morning, so I just let him sleep."

"Let's hope he doesn't get accustomed to it," the Abbot joked, "We can't afford for him to sleep when he becomes the Friar." He laughed a little.

The Abbot lapsed into silence and watched as Friar Balstril prepared even more delicacies. After a long moment, Mahtkin spoke. "Friar," he said, "do you ever get tired of all this?" The Friar shot him a quick look but soon returned to his task.

"What do you mean, Father Abbot?" he asked.

"I mean, do you ever get tired of doing the same things every day? I sometimes wish I were just a bit younger, to have all the freedoms I used to have."

The Friar chuckled. "A veteran adventurer like you is bound to feel restless sometimes, eh? The way I see it, we're lucky that we _don't_ have adventures-- usually those sorts of things warrant danger." The Abbot paused a moment, pondering. Finally, he sighed.

"I suppose you're right. But I still can't help feeling a bit..." The Abbot's voice trailed off, leaving his sentence incomplete. It would be no use trying to explain his feelings to any of the abbeybeasts, he reckoned. Not that not understanding him was a bad thing--how could they?-- but he did wish that he could talk to someone about it.

Well, there was one beast, he amended. Badger Mother Metla.

He would have to wake her, for she spent most of her time these days asleep. She was old-- turning ancient many times over. No one knew how old she was, but they knew that she was already ancient when Mahtkin had made his return to the abbey-- and that was so long ago, no one remembered it, save them two.

Once the ruler of Salamdastron, Mother Metla had made many journeys during her time. If any beast were to understand how he felt, it would be her.

A few minutes later, Abbot Mahtkin had made his way to the old badger's room. The door was partially open, revealing a dimly lit room. A pure white badger reclined in a large red armchair. Her head was drooped onto her shoulder, and the Abbot could tell that she was dozing.

He rapped on the door, and, to his surprise, the badger mother responded quickly. Her head jerked upwards, and she gazed towards the door. A moment later, she smiled broadly.

"Come in, Father Abbot," she said. She lifted her hand-- rather slowly-- and beckoned the Abbot to enter. He nodded, and padded into the room.

He gazed around him, thinking. The room hadn't changed much since he was a Dibbun. The furniture was still dark, colored in hues of red and black. No, he suddenly realized, nothing had changed. The only difference was that the old badger's fur had gone from silver to white.

"Good morning, Mother Metla," he said to her. She nodded, her eyes searching him over. He had the feeling of something gazing through him, but it didn't bother him. He always felt like that around Mother Metla.

She spoke soon after, her words taking him by surprise. "Is something troubling you?" Her voice was questioning, caring, and curious. Abbot Mahtkin hesitated and closed his eyes. Sighing, he nodded his head.

"Yes. I have something I wish to speak with you about." He walked closer to the badger. She was still searching him over, but her smile returned.

"Then, by all means, talk!" she exclaimed heartily.

So, he did.


End file.
